


Sunburn

by cirnelle



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9069055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirnelle/pseuds/cirnelle
Summary: “We’d better wait for a couple of hours, let them finish searching the area and clear out before we head back to HQ,” suggested Napoleon.Illya stared at him. “And what,” he demanded, “do we do for a couple of hours out here in the middle of nowhere?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Translation in русский by [Bousguitar](https://ficbook.net/authors/25712) available [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5123432)!
> 
>  
> 
> 1) I’d previously posted this earlier in the year then taken it down for edits, so some readers might have seen this already. I’m done with the (minor) revisions, so I’m posting this back up now.
> 
> 2) T.H.R.U.S.H. are the main villains from the TV series, but you don’t need to know anything about them to read this.

 

 

“Up here!” snapped Illya tersely, scrambling up the rocky trail and onto a ledge, turning around and holding out a hand to pull Napoleon up. They edged along the narrow trail, until – aha. Illya’s sharp eyes spotted an opening in the rock face, covered by some sparsely hanging vegetation. Pushing the plants aside, he found that the opening widened into a shallow cave with a sandy floor – perfect for them to duck into to avoid their pursuers.

“Still got the disk?” asked Napoleon behind him, slightly out of breath.

“Of course.” Illya frowned at his partner and patted his trouser pocket. The two agents had made their way out to a remote T.H.R.U.S.H. facility to recover a disk of top-secret stolen naval plans and replace the disk with a false one. The switch itself had been executed flawlessly; however, as they’d been crouched together in a cramped storage closet waiting to make their escape, Napoleon’s front pressed snugly up against Illya’s back, Illya’s hair had tickled Napoleon’s nose, Napoleon had sneezed, a guard had been alerted, and they’d had to make their way out considerably more quickly than they’d gone in.

They paused at the entrance to the cave, deliberating.

“We’d better wait for a couple of hours, let them finish searching the area and clear out before we head back to HQ,” suggested Napoleon, squinting down at the tiny figures of the T.H.R.U.S.H. henchmen scurrying around far below them, the hot sun beating down on them. The occasional shout drifted up as the figures slowly moved further away.

Illya stared at him. “And what,” he demanded, “do we do for a couple of hours out here in the middle of nowhere?”

Napoleon grinned.

 

***

 

They tumbled into the narrow mouth of the cave in a tangle of limbs, tugging desperately at buttons and clasps and belts. Napoleon unbuckled Illya’s shoulder holster with impatient fingers, shoving it back off his shoulders and pulling the other man’s torn shirt up over his head, heedless of the buttons popping, tossing it aside and shoving Illya roughly up against the wall of the cave. Hissing as his skin touched the cold rock, Illya threw his head back as Napoleon licked a wet stripe of heat up his neck, clawing desperately at Napoleon’s shirt, blindly tearing it open, pushing it off Napoleon’s shoulders. One of Napoleon’s cufflinks clattered noisily to the ground.

Napoleon surged forward, claiming Illya’s lips in a bruising kiss, licking his way into Illya’s mouth as his partner’s nimble fingers worked at his belt buckle. His belt clanked to the floor, rapidly followed by his trousers and boxers, leaving him bare under Illya’s busy hands. He choked back a moan, hips jerking forward involuntarily, as Illya’s broad, callused hand wrapped around his cock, stroking firmly. He made short work of the rest of Illya’s clothing, running his hands over Illya’s skin, over his cock, already hard, curving gently up towards his belly.

“Do you –  _oh_ ,” Illya’s half-lidded gaze, dark with lust, followed his partner down as Napoleon sank to his knees, lips just touching the head of his cock, lapping greedily at the moisture at the slit, pulling the foreskin gently back as he swirled his tongue around the rosy head. Illya groaned as Napoleon sucked him expertly, one hand working his shaft as the other cupped his balls, massaging them. His hands crept of their own volition to fist in Napoleon’s hair, fingers clutching at the dark strands, yanking almost painfully.

“My jacket – ” Illya gasped, accent thick as he struggled to scrape together enough brain cells to not completely relinquish his grasp of the English language, although his voice still cracked embarrassingly on the last syllable. “My jacket pocket – get the – ” His voice failed him as Napoleon slid his tongue under his foreskin, lapping at the head of his cock, and his knees almost gave out. He clutched desperately at the wall.

His partner made an inquiring noise, tilting his head to look up at him, without stopping the delightful suction. “The – the gel,” he tried again, panting.

Napoleon blinked, then, comprehending, he released Illya, hurriedly turning to the heap of discarded clothing behind them, digging frantically through the pockets, his usual finesse in tatters as Illya watched him with a glittering, hungry gaze. Finding the tube of gel Illya had asked for, he got to his feet and turned back toward the other man.

Breathing hard, blond hair tousled and normally fair skin flushed pink and damp with sweat, hard cock rosy and weeping, Illya looked at Napoleon through lowered lashes, his full lips curving up in a slow, inviting smile. Napoleon’s breath caught in his throat. He closed his eyes briefly, willing his body to calm down.

Illya dragged him into another hard kiss before releasing him, smiling that slow, hungry smile again and turning around, bracing himself against the wall of the cave. Coating unsteady fingers liberally with the gel from the tube, Napoleon slowly pressed a finger into Illya, biting his lip hard as Illya pressed back against him impatiently. Reaching around, he grasped Illya’s cock with his other hand, stroking him firmly as he slowly inserted a second finger. Illya made a sound that was halfway between a moan and a gasp, wriggling back against him, legs spread obscenely wide. Napoleon took a deep breath. His cock was so hard it hurt.

A third finger, then he was finally satisfied that Illya was ready. He moved to grip Illya’s hips, positioning himself, then pushed in slowly, carefully, easing past the slight resistance until Illya opened up for him.

He pushed forward gradually, fighting every instinct in him that was screaming for him to move  _fasterfasterfaster_ , until he was finally,  _finally_  fully sheathed inside Illya, blazingly hot and so tight,  _perfect_. He gasped in a lungful of air, not even aware until now that he had been holding his breath, overcome with how  _right_  this felt, being inside Illya, pressed up against his muscled back, nose buried in short blond hair.

“All right?” he murmured into the blond strands.

“Yes,” growled Illya. “Napoleon,  _move_.”

Only too happy to comply, Napoleon did so, wrapping his hand around Illya’s cock, stroking him as he moved, thrusting at first shallowly, then deeper, harder, trying to find the right angle –

– Illya jerked against him, crying out as Napoleon hit a spot inside him that made him see stars. He moaned, low and long, writhing wantonly against his partner, turning his head into his shoulder to muffle his cries as Napoleon fucked him, pulling out almost all the way, then slamming back into him, hard and fast, almost brutal, stroking him in time with his thrusts,  _so good_  –

“Don’t,” growled Napoleon into his ear, “I want to hear you, Illya, god,– ” he was close, so close, every nerve ending thrumming, and Illya was close too, he could feel it in the taut line of Illya’s body, in his panting cries as their bodies slid against each other, sweat-slick.

He bit into the juncture between Illya’s neck and shoulder,  _hard_ , and Illya came with a cry that was almost a sob, painting the rock wall in front of them with pearly streaks of white. Napoleon followed almost immediately after, hands gripping Illya’s hips hard enough to leave marks, Illya’s name on his lips as he shuddered his completion.

Napoleon slid bonelessly to the ground, muttering a small “oof” as Illya flopped face-first onto his chest. He picked up the small tube of gel lying beside them, now almost empty, idly examining it.

“This stuff is incredible.” Napoleon sighed contentedly. “Remind me to commend the lab on their excellent work.”

“It was meant to help enforcement agents get out of handcuffs,” Illya informed him, “not to fuel your depraved escapades.” He stretched and yawned.

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” countered Napoleon, smirking down at him.

Illya muttered something unintelligible in Russian, yawned again, and closed his eyes. Napoleon, drowsy and satiated, curled an arm around his partner and let his eyes slip closed.

 

***

 

Napoleon woke as the sun crept low in the sky, orange rays gently illuminating the cave in soft light and turning Illya’s hair to burnished gold. Illya was a warm, heavy weight on his chest, snoring softly into his shoulder.

“Hey,” he nudged his partner gently. “Wake up, we’d better get going – it looks like we’ve been here a little longer than we intended.”

Illya snuffled, burrowed deeper into Napoleon’s shoulder, and continued snoring.

Napoleon suppressed a smile. “Hey,” he tried again, putting his hand on his sleeping partner’s shoulder.

He was completely unprepared for the loud yelp that provoked, as Illya jerked bolt upright, immediately awake, clutching at his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Napoleon peered worriedly at Illya. “Did I hurt you, earlier?”

“No, no, of course not,” muttered Illya, waving his worried partner off and craning his neck around to look at his shoulder. “Ow.”

Concerned, Napoleon gently turned his friend around so he could look at his back. “Ouch,” he said, torn between sympathy and laughter. Illya’s back was bright pink, an angry sunburn spreading from his shoulders... _all_  the way down. Napoleon, having been lying mostly under Illya, had been spared any direct sunlight and had escaped mostly unscathed.

“Well,” Illya sighed, getting to his feet and ignoring the appreciative look Napoleon shot at his nude body. “It was worth it, I suppose.”

 

***

 

“Well, you gentlemen seem to have brought this affair to a satisfactory close,” Mr. Waverly nodded at the two agents sitting in front of him approvingly. “Although you do seem to have taken an inordinately long time to return to Headquarters.”

“We wanted to be very sure that we weren’t followed back here, sir,” said Napoleon earnestly.

“Quite so, quite so. Did you get a chance to test out that new invention the lab handed out?”

“The handcuff gel?” Napoleon nodded. “Yes sir, it came in very, er, handy.”

Illya chose that moment to suffer from a minor coughing fit. Mr. Waverly leaned forward to regard his other agent keenly. “Mr. Kuryakin, are you quite well?”

Illya shifted uncomfortably in his seat for the third time in as many minutes, suppressing a slight wince. “Yes, sir.”

“He got a little sunburn while we were, ah, trying to lose our pursuit, sir,” Napoleon added helpfully. “Illya has very sensitive skin.”

“I am  _fine_ , sir,” said Illya, shooting Napoleon a murderous look.

“Well,” said Mr. Waverly. “As this affair has been completed and I have nothing further for you gentlemen at the moment, I don’t want to see you here until tomorrow morning. Mr. Solo, take Mr. Kuryakin to Medical and get him something for his sunburn.”

 

***

 

The moment they were out of Mr. Waverly’s office, Illya kicked Napoleon in the shin.

“Ouch!” Napoleon shot his partner an injured look. “What’d you do that for?”

“Because I couldn’t do it in Mr. Waverly’s office,” replied Illya, scowling. “Now come on, you can come home with me and help me put cream on my sunburned,  _sensitive_  skin.”

“I’ll be right with you,” said Napoleon, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Just let me pop by the lab first.”

 

  

End.

 


End file.
